


Theirs

by ElizaHiggs



Series: Age of Summer [3]
Category: The Mentalist
Genre: After that elevator scene, F/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 14:59:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6055933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizaHiggs/pseuds/ElizaHiggs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they get to his apartment, he realizes he has no plan | After that elevator scene | Cho/Summer POV, stream-of-consciousness, shameless smut | Graphic depictions of consensual sex | Smut-free version forthcoming for those who don't prefer explicit material</p>
            </blockquote>





	Theirs

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scenes, post elevator scene in season 4, episode 14
> 
> \--
> 
> I do not own any of these characters

They finally break apart. The elevator isn’t moving; the doors have shut and no one’s left at this hour anyway to call the car. That’s why she waited here so late, she knows he’s the last one to leave, and she wanted to make her desperate case to him alone. 

Cho is looking at her, their faces still inches apart. He’s deadly serious and it’s more than a smolder; he’s positively glowering at her, like that time he tried to arrest her, like he is absolutely furious with her.

For a second she’s worried he might try to arrest her again, perhaps for sexual assault (could a cop make an arrest if the cop is the victim?) but then again, she’s certain he kissed her back. 

“C’mon,” he says, hitting the door-open button, and she realizes she’s been holding her breath. He strides off down the hall and she almost has to jog to keep up with him as he leads them out of the office and into the parking garage to his car.

He looks around, makes sure no one is watching them. “Get in,” he says, unlocking the doors, and she does, still trying to slow her heartbeat. 

“Where are we going?” she asks, when she thinks she’s back in control, but he hears the tremor in her voice. He turns to her, making a visible effort to soften. He leans over, lifts her chin and kisses her once, gently, on the lips. “My place,” he says softly.

X

When they get to his apartment, he realizes he has no plan, that he’s not thinking, just acting, like when they’re on a job, and someone’s pulled a gun, and there’s not time for conscious thought. Surely he didn’t intend to drive her home and pull her straight into bed; they’ve kissed once, for Chrissakes. He’s not even sure he has any condoms in the place.

“D’you want a drink?” he asks, pulling a bottle and two rock glasses from a cabinet. She nods nervously, standing with both hands on the kitchen island, looking around the apartment; she had been uncharacteristically quiet on the ride over. At the time he’d suspected she didn't trust herself to speak again, and perhaps it had something to do with his hand resting on her thigh, which she’d held in place as he drove, her hand over his.

“Scotch okay?” he asks, handing her the drink neat, he’s not much of a drinker and it’s all he has. She takes the glass from him and sips from it, and her unfamiliar silence is giving him pause.

He watches as she swirls her glass nervously and, dammit, she’s still looking at him from across the island like he’s a cop, like he might arrest her. “Hey,” he says, trying to be reassuring. “We’re not going to do anything you don't want to do tonight.”

“I know,” she says, giving him a genuine, soft smile. 

“And there’ll be no consequences either way. You can have your job back – ” 

“No, Cho, I know,” she cuts across him, and smiles again at his earnestness. “I know you. You’re one of the good guys.”

At this he downs his scotch, sets the empty glass on the marble, and strides around the island to her. He can no longer resist, and she’s still smiling and smiling, that wide grin that's driven him insane for months, as he takes her face in his hands and goes again for her lips. The kiss is gentler at first than the rough one in the elevator, slower. Her lips are soft, and he runs his tongue along her bottom lip, asking for permission to enter her mouth and when she allows it, he tastes the scotch on her tongue. She lifts her tongue to meet his, and he groans, and when she feels his fingers begin to slip under the edge of her top, she backs away. 

He’s breathing heavily and glowering again, but this time she merely smirks at his discomfort, finally back in control. “Mind if I freshen up?” she asks sweetly, head cocked to one side, as though he doesn't get her going, as if she isn’t already aching too. 

He nods and shows her the bathroom attached in a two-way to the bedroom and the living area, and she shuts the door behind herself and studies her reflection in the mirror. She shrugs off the juvenile denim jacket she wore for the sting operation – its innocence makes her seem approachable, helps catch men like Murphy when she’s out with the team. She isn’t exactly going for juvenile right now, she thinks. 

She had been hoping to find a discarded dress shirt of his in the bathroom, something sexy to throw over herself, but his apartment is – predictably – impeccable. “Panties it is,” she mutters, as she strips and removes the pins holding up her hair. She smudges her eye makeup a bit more, but there’s no hiding that horrible bandage on her forehead. Cho had applied it himself, from a first aid kit in his cruiser, and she had seen the look in his eyes, seen the way he looked at her, and wanted her. This seemed normal – men wanted her – but his determination to repress it was what struck her as so strange. At the time, she had thought, he was incapable of dealing with that and he had fired her for it. 

She’s still not, she thinks, entirely sure what he wants her for, for a quick fuck or something else, but she knows she wants him, and she steps out into the bedroom. 

He looks at her as she steps into the bedroom from the doorway, wearing only a pink lace bra and panties (was she simply always prepared?) She’s still wearing the demure makeup she wore for the sting op and the bandage on her forehead, which she’d gotten for pushing Murphy today, for making their case, and he’d been terrified – absolutely terrified – that the asshole would hurt her and furious when he did. 

He reaches for her waist – fingertips skimming bright pink lace – and gently kisses her forehead. “I was worried that you would be hurt today,” he admits, his voice raw and rough. 

She looks up at him, meets his gaze. “Is that why you fired me?” she asks, and he nods, feeling that he owes her this explanation, to explain his desperate need to protect anything precious to him, even if it means shoving it away. But she’s refused to be pushed away and she’s here, now, and his lips fall to her neck and he pulls her hips in tight to his, letting her feel how much he wants her. 

Her fingers fumble with the buttons on his dress shirt, and he helps her remove it. She slides her hands appreciatively across his pecs and shoulders. “Take this off me,” she commands, and he releases her bra from behind, drawing a thumb across each hard nipple and watches as her eyes close at his touch, and she purses her lips and lets out a small hum. 

His lips trail down her neck, over her breasts, to each nipple, gently sucking, nibbling, and she’s moaning for real now, and he meets her mouth once more as he slips his fingers under the bright pink lace and slides the panties off her hips, falls to his knees and gently slides his tongue between her lips. 

She gasps, gripping his hair as he teases her clit with his tongue. She lets him continue until she’s close, very close – “Cho,” she murmurs, and he looks up at her. “I want to come with you inside me,” she says and he stands. 

She goes next for his belt buckle and he hands her a condom he found – mercifully – in a side table. He continues to draw small circles across her nipples with his thumbs as her right hand reaches for his cock. He’s bigger than she expected – he seemed so straight-laced, in the way that small men generally are – and he lets out a small puff of breath as her hand wraps around him. 

Of course, she thinks, her calm, square Agent Cho disappeared when she kissed him in the elevator, and the deeply burning man in front of her is one she barely recognizes. She pumps him a few times, testing him, before falling to her knees and wrapping her lips around his head. 

She teases him for a while, swirling small circles around his most sensitive parts with her tongue until he sighs and she takes him deeply. She’s seen men cry when she goes for their cocks like this, and, helpless, they usually let her until they come. 

But Cho puts his hands on her shoulders, backs away, and simply looks at her, breathing heavily. She smiles, and nods understandingly, and bends over the bed, ready for him, but he lifts her, sets her head on a pillow and lowers himself onto his forearms above her.

“Missionary style, Agent Cho?” she smirks at him, raising an eyebrow. “Always the good boy, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t falter, lowering his face closer to hers. “This is more intimate.”

She breaks eye contact, looks down at the perfect bicep she’s stroking. “People usually don’t want to be so intimate with hookers.” 

“Look at me,” he commands. When she complies, he continues, “You’re not a hooker. You’re a woman. And tonight I want to watch your face as you come.”

She shivers under his words. “Okay,” she manages to rasp, and he enters her, slowly. She lets out her breath as she feels him fill her. He looks into her eyes but doesn’t move just yet, frustrating her. She tightens herself around him and has the reward of seeing the iron mask falter as he moans in pleasure. She chuckles as he finally begins to move, rocking his hips into hers. 

She wraps her legs around him, making him groan and swear, slowing the pace. She chuckles again, “Too much too soon, Agent Cho?” 

He half-smiles at her, bemused. She had no problem addressing him with familiarity in the office. Now, in the most intimate of possible positions, she is insisting on using his title. In control of himself again, he pushes his full length into her, making her moan and pull him tighter with her legs. “Don’t call me that. Say my name,” he commands, resuming their pace, “Kimball.”

“Yes…Kimball,” she rasps in that hoarse voice, the same one he’s imagined whimpering his name in orgasm, except it’s so much better than he’s imagined, the feel of his cock in her, the feel of her trembling beneath him, better than he could possibly have imagined. “Summer,” he moans in response, and it’s as though the word is drawn from him against his will. 

She’s whimpering now, so close. When she comes, she calls his name and her voice breaks on the B, the second syllable lost as her tongue lifts for an inaudible L, and it’s too much for him, and he blacks out into her. 

X

His back still hurts him, so when she awakes, he’s flat on his back and she’s nestled up to one bicep. He’s awake already, gently stroking the leg that’s stretched out across his lower body, and the morning light is streaming gently through his bedroom curtains. 

“G’morning,” he murmurs when he sees she is awake, and she takes a deep awakening breath, reaching her hand out across his wide pectorals. 

“Good morning,” she replies, and props herself up on her elbow and smiles down at him.

“D’you have anything for me to change into, or am I doing the stride of pride this morning?” she asks with her typical flirtatious banter, throwing the covers down slightly and making as if to get out of bed.

“Don't go,” he says softly, holding onto her upper arm, “I have the day off. Stay here – we can have breakfast.”

“Mmm,” she hums appreciatively, “Donuts?”

He snorts. “I haven’t been that bad since I was a teenager.”

“But you were, weren’t you?” she presses, with a little insistent nod. She’d heard about his past life, in inconclusive bits and pieces, from the other members of the team.

He pauses to consider her, taken slightly aback by her urgency. “A teenager? Sure,” he says, dismissively. 

“No,” she whispers, and licks her lips, “Bad, I mean.”

He pauses again and inhales deeply. “Yeah,” he says simply, and doesn't take his eyes away from her face, which has the little crease between her eyes like when she’s anxious. 

“But you stopped. You went straight,” she continues in a whisper, and he nods. 

“When I was about your age,” he confirms. 

She accepts this and leans back in the pillows, chewing on her bottom lip. 

“Except for now, of course,” he continues and for a second she’s panicked, thinking he’s somehow misinterpreted the kiss in the elevator and – everything after. But no, that made no sense. 

He sees her confusion and explains, “Summer, I’m still technically your employer. I’ll help you in any way I can, but we need to be discreet.” He leans over her and brushes a lock of messy hair from her face. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she says, smiling again, reaching up for a kiss. “Discreet. I promise.”


End file.
